


Trick-Or-Treat

by ceywoozle



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Episode s02 e07: Catspaw, Jealous Spock, M/M, Orgasm Control, but actually fluff?????, dub con, i don't know how this happened i'm sorry, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6079191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk teaches Spock about that old Earth custom: Trick-or-treat.</p><p>Perhaps it doesn't go exactly as he plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trick-Or-Treat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cartopathy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cartopathy/gifts).



"Three witches," Doctor McCoy says, "What appears to be a castle, and a black cat."

The Captain, phaser out, is leaning against the jamb of the enormous door looking sceptical. "If we weren't missing two officers and a third one dead I'd say someone was playing an elaborate trick-or-treat on us."

"Trick or treat, Captain?" Spock asks.

"Yes, Mr Spock. You'd be a natural. I'll explain it to you one day."

 

* * * * *

 

There's a collapsing floor. And a dungeon. And also chains.

Oh. 

And there's a woman. 

There is _always_ a woman.

 

* * * * *

 

Spock knows, the moment Captain Kirk returns to the dungeon, Doctor McCoy trailing behind blank-faced and phaser out, that Kirk has done it again. He's asked himself many times how it is he always knows but he can never find a satisfactory answer. Is it the smell? The half-shameful flush on his Captain's face? The way he never quite manages to look Spock in the eye afterwards? All of these are guesses which have nothing to do with reason. And even less to do with reason is the heavy, hot thing that always settles somewhere in Spock's stomach when it happens, an actual physical discomfort that had worried him the first few times but by now he has simply learned to ignore. There is nothing reasonable in this. There is nothing reasonable in Captain James T. Kirk. And when it comes to Kirk, there is certainly nothing reasonable in Spock.

He would say he was angry, except that anger is an emotion and somehow that thought just makes it worse.

"I take it you were not successful, Captain," Spock says and it's not really a question. If he'd been successful they would not still be here, chained to an illusory wall. If it wasn't so illogical he would have said he took some pleasure in the statement, however. Vindictive, he thinks. At least, it would be if Spock had any concept of vindictiveness. He doesn't, naturally.

"No," Kirk says shortly and proceeds to glower at the opposite wall. Half-shamed. Refusing to look Spock in the eye. And yes. Yes, there is the smell. Perfume, though even that is an illusion. Spock is getting tired of this place.

 

* * * * *

 

Spock is beginning to rethink his fondness for Earth cats. It's illogical, seeing as how the mysterious species hadn't actually been a cat, but something about being chased down a hallway by even the illusion of one manages to alter one's perceptions dramatically. He knows this is something he will have to work on. Possibly he will find an Earth cat to keep in his quarters.

Naturally this has nothing to do with the fact that the Captain has mentioned his dislike of them. That would be illogical. This decision, should it come to be made, would have nothing to do with the Captain.

 

* * * * *

 

When the Captain comes to him twenty minutes into their rest cycle, he is wearing that faintly defiant expression that Spock has come to recognise so easily through constant exposure to it. It's the expression of Jim when he knows he's done something wrong, when he's forgotten himself yet again during his latest encounter with some female or another.

Spock doesn't understand this reaction to something as basic as anatomy. While he believes he is able to appreciate something that has been well constructed, this blind oblivion that human males tend to fall into when approached by something as ordinary as another member of their species puzzles him. He recognises that the drive is a primal one, from back when the species was considered to be (slightly) more animalistic, when the drive was needed to propagate the species. But the fact that it still continues so strongly within the species, that all reason and logic is driven from the brain as soon as those chemicals are introduced, has more than once made Spock puzzle over the scientific advances of the human race.

Surely the drive to mate doesn't take them all so completely as it does the Captain. It would have been impossible for the species to have ever left the planet at all if that were the case, short of segregating the sexes completely for the duration of any working periods. He also wonders if perhaps long exposure to a particular individual lessens the effect. After all, the Captain seems to be able to function when Lieutenant Uhura is on the Bridge. He even manages to treat her as he would a male member of the species as opposed to the usual dismissive gestures he generally uses when a female attempts to say something unrelated to potential mating in his hearing.

It's all a bit of a mystery. He wonders, not for the first time, what the physiological differences are in the various males of the species, why some react as...say...Sulu, or Chekov, while others are more like the Captain or Doctor McCoy. He also wonders if it's a general thing that the more rational members of the species are less likely to be promoted than the irrational. He makes a mental note to widen his field of study.

In the meantime, he's left here now, with Captain James T. Kirk and the defiant look on his face and Spock has no idea what's wrong with him that he allows himself to react in this manner to this incredibly illogical and relatively unintelligent member of this already illogical and unintelligent species. He reminds himself again that he should probably find a way to fix what in a compute would be called a virus, but for some reason he always finds reasons not to do so. He is very busy, after all.

"Captain," Spock says in greeting. He is already half-undressed, prepared to settle in for a period of rest, of course. His state of undress has nothing to do with the fact that he had predicted the Captain would appear at this time with just that look on his face.

"Spock," the Captain says, and Spock watches as the defiance turns into an amused alarm, a dichotomy that has never made sense to Spock but that he has found to be unusually common to the Captain in these situations. "Look, I know what you're going to say."

"Very likely," Spock says. "This situation is in no way unusual."

"Well, no, but—"

"In fact, this situation is, if anything, becoming something of the norm."

 _"The norm?_ Now hold on! It's not that bad—"

"Rigel VI. The Orion Nebula. Caliph Alpha I. Quirm. The F-8 Lunar Colony—"

"Alright! Alright." The Captain is laughing outright now and Spock feels a return of what would have been anger if he could be angry. He can't be, of course. So he isn't. Naturally.

"The fact is, Captain, you seem to take a great deal of pleasure in everyone except for me."

"I object to that _most strenuously,_ Mr Spock," Kirk says and Spock doesn't miss the way he begins to move closer, far too smoothly. Ah. Yes. The mating ritual has begun now. "I take a great _deal_ of pleasure in you."

"Perhaps if there were _less_ taking," Spock suggests, holding his ground. He can feel the slow growth of his penile member against the fabric of his regulation pants and he shifts where he stands as Kirk comes slowly closer. Most certainly part of the mating ritual.

 _"Less_ taking, Mr Spock?" Kirk says and his voice is that quiet hum of sound that seems to have a habit of making it unreasonably difficult for Spock to breathe.

"Why yes, Captain," Spock says, trying not to swallow. "I was thinking a lesson in Earth custom instead."

Kirk's face lights with laughter. "Is this really the time, do you think?" he asks as he comes to a stop, ten inches from Spock.

"Indeed, you promised, Captain."

"When did I do that?" Kirk is hovering, his eyes flickering down to Spock's lips where Spock knows they are flushed green with increased blood flow, an embarrassing physiological response that he can't seem to help in spite of his best efforts to control it.

"On the planet. You said you would tell me about...er...'trick-or-treat'."

Kirk pauses. There's a quizzical gleam in his eye and Spock knows he's interested him now.

"That I did, Mr Spock. That I did. I'll tell you what. You remove what remains of your clothing and get on the bed and I'll show you _exactly_ how trick-or-treating works."

Spock considers it. It's not a logical exchange, but he's willing to make compromises at this moment. He has his own plans to enact, after all.

So he does as is asked. Removes his regulation pants and watches with his usual half-fearful interest as his own sexual organ, fully erect and flushed a rather pleasing shade of dark green, emerges free. He is not generally embarrassed or affected by the exposure of his body, but as always, rules don't seem to apply when Kirk's around, and as he stands there, naked and flushed, he tries to hide how pleased he is to be here. There is nothing amused in the Captain's expression anymore. Instead, there is the same sort of hunger Spock has often observed in more predatory species when confronted with something small and helpless.

Irrationally, Spock feels... _pleasure_ at this picture of himself. As if he _wants_ to be something small and helpless. He sets this aside for later rationalisation—that is...for further scientific enquiry at a later time—and lays himself on his back on his narrow couch and watches while the Captain stares down at him and slowly undresses.

And this is a pleasure, too, watching the gradual emergence of anatomical perfection. (No. Illogical, again. There's no such concept as perfection.) And yet...Spock watches (observes) and feels as if he, too, is starving with that same predatory hunger that is in the Captain's eyes. He knows that this should bother him but it doesn't. Not at the moment, anyway. Later, when the Captain is sleeping crushed against him in this too small space, after the mating ritual has been completed and they are both sated, Spock will think on it and do his best to reconcile current information with past knowledge, but for now he lets it happen. Has learnt by now that it will happen regardless and that trying to stop it simply leads to degraded concentration on the Bridge.

When the last piece of clothing is removed—those regulation pants that Spock always has to fight the urge to try to remove himself—Kirk takes a moment to stand at the end of the couch, fully exposed, his member straight and erect and the colour of human blood, hot and bright beneath his skin. He's beautiful like this, always is, and Spock simply stares at him during this gifted moment, fascinated.

"I hope you're paying attention, Mr Spock."

"Of course, Captain."

"This is an extremely valuable opportunity for you to learn something new."

"I am aware of that."

"Now," Kirk says and his voice is that low hum that leaves Spock breathless and his sexual organ, already tight against the flush of his stomach, becomes even more erect. Between Spock's legs, splayed out before him on the couch, Kirk places a knee. "It's very simple, Mr Spock. When someone says 'trick-or-treat'"—a second knee is placed beside the first one—"either you give them a treat, or they are permitted to trick you."

"When you say 'trick,' Captain..."

"Something...not good." And Kirk lowers himself down, looking remarkably like the cat they'd so lately escaped, one hand on either side of Spock's hips.

"And," Spock says, trying to remember to breathe, "When you say 'treat'?"

"Something... _good."_

And Kirk is on him, his body pressing down against the length of Spock's and the jutting hardness of the Captain's penis is a slippery, silky presence beside his own, and when Kirk kisses him, soft lips and insistent tongue, Spock can feel—as he always does, as he can never stop, like a list being checked off—each brain function shutting down one by one, rationality and logic flickering blindly away. And when Kirk moans, low and guttural into his mouth, Spock forgets why he even cares.

It is heat, predominantly, that he is aware of. Skin unbearably soft against flesh not often touched. He dreams of this sometimes, of his Captain like this, all bare flesh and red blood, of sinews and muscles moving in ways only Spock gets to see. He touches each one, lists off their names in his head as his fingers find them and press in and on top of him Kirk makes the helpless sound of something dying. Spock's body working on an instinct that has more to do with his human side than his Vulcan one, thrusts his hips blindly upwards and he feels the blinding pleasure in the catch of their sexual organs, already slippery with the potentiality of their mating. He thrusts again just to hear that noise the Captain makes. Something helpless. Something small. And with a snarl that makes him feel as if the heat of Pon Farr is upon him, Spock clutches at the Captain with arms and legs and twists him onto his back. And Kirk blinks up at him, hazy eyed and surprised, while Spock presses his body into the couch beneath them.

"Spock—"

"I am an apt pupil, Captain. Shall I show you what I've learnt?"

"You're going to be in trouble in a second, First Officer."

"Indeed?" And Spock presses his hips downwards, his sexual organ sliding down beneath Kirk's and he feels the heat of that place that logically shouldn't bring pleasure and yet does and Kirk throws his head back and moans. "You think so, Captain?"

"Damn you, Spock, do something!"

"You were so good as to teach me a lesson, Jim. Let me teach you one now."

"This isn't a time for lessons!" and Kirk presses himself downwards, legs spread and knees up and it would be so easy for Spock to snap his teeth against that long exposed neck. So easy to indulge in this animalistic rite and simply push forward, enter into that red heat and plant himself in his chosen mate.

But there are other things to consider right now, and instead of pushing forward he leans back and when Kirk cries out and reaches after him Spock pushes him back down with a hand on his chest.

"Stay," he says. "This is part of the lesson."

"You're a cruel man, Mr Spock."

"I'm a Vulcan, Captain. Not a man."

"Man enough for this," Kirk says and tries to push himself downwards again and Spock pulls deliberately away. He settles himself between those open legs to the accompaniment of the Captain's frustrated moan and with both hands Spock pushes Kirk's knees back as far as they will go until his hips are canted upwards and he is pressed into the couch, the dark anxious place between his buttocks in full view.

"I have a question, Captain," he says.

"Yes, anything, _anything!_ Just get on with it, damn you!"

"Do you take pleasure from me?"

"I damn well hope so," Kirk gasps.

"Answer the question, Captain."

"Yes! Yes, I get pleasure from you, Spock. What's this about?"

"Oh," Spock says and he blinks, processing that for a minute. "Good then," and keeping his weight on Kirk's legs he leans over and picks up the jar from the small table at the side of the couch (honestly you'd think humans would have evolved past the need for external lubrication by now) and when Kirk sees it, watching with hooded eyes as Spock twists it open, he makes a low desperate sound in his throat and pushes against Spock's weight, his hips struggling upwards.

"Now," Spock says, settling back between Kirk's legs. He dips a finger into the small steel jar and it comes out slippery and wet and he looks at it for a second, ensuring that Kirk has seen it too. "I suppose I give you your treat."

_"Oh god, yes."_

And with a raised eyebrow, keeping his eyes carefully on Kirk's face, Spock finds that hot, dark space with the tip of his finger and he pushes it in.

Kirk _moans,_ eyes squeezed shut and mouth wide open. He is gorgeous like this, thighs spread and throat exposed. It is his human side, entirely his humanness that makes Spock want to push himself forward and press white teeth into that offered neck, cover his Captain and dominate him with limbs stronger and longer than his, keep him there, keep him down, and seed himself as deep into that offered hole as he can get.

But he doesn't. Instead he sits back and watches as Kirk writhes on the end of his finger, like a puppet, some broken toy.

"Good," Spock says. "That would be the treat then."

"Spock. Spock, _please!"_

"Patience, Captain. I'm not finished yet."

"Neither am I," Kirk snarls and pumps his hips upon that single digit while his penis slaps with a lurid noise against his belly.

"Next question."

"There's _more?"_

"Was the female beautiful?"

Kirk goes suddenly still, stares at him, neck craned as he peers between his thighs at the Vulcan settled there, simple expectation on his sallow face.

"Which one?" Kirk asks cautiously, and gives a sudden yelp of shocked protest as Spock's hand slaps in stinging contact against his testicles. Spock watches with calm interest as some of the hardness leaves Kirk's penis, at the way the testicles suddenly droop. He feels the tightening of muscle around his buried finger.

"And that, Captain, would be the trick," he says.

_"What was that for?"_

"I find I do not like it when you return to me smelling like someone else."

"I don't smell—"

"Next question."

"Oh god."

"Have you ever desired to have sexual intercourse with Doctor McCoy?"

"What? _Bones?_ No of course not!"

"Excellent," Spock says, and he curls his sunken finger around and _strokes,_ and with a cry Kirk arches off the bed, pushing himself down on that seeking digit, and Spock watches with smug interest as once again the testicles tighten and the penis lengthens and starts to drip. He stops because more than once his Captain has reached completion from this act alone. As soon as he stops Kirk actually swears at him, a frantic whining Earth curse that would amuse Spock in another situation but in this one simply causes him to slap sharply at Kirk's penis.

"That is not polite, Captain," he says and the look that Kirk sends him is absolutely filthy but it doesn't stop him from trying to drive himself downwards on Spock's hand some more.

"Next question."

_"Spock!"_

"How many females have you had sexual intercourse with?"

_"What?"_

Another slap and Kirk gasps. "I don't know! I haven't _counted,_ for god's sake!"

"Since the first time you kissed me, how many other partners have you been with?"

"None! Of course none."

And Spock simply stares at him, trying to decide if he believes it or not.

"Spock?" And Kirk is looking at him now like _he_ is the small and helpless one and Spock can feel that thing, that hot, heavy thing in his stomach seem to lighten a little bit, for the first time that day a small portion of that chronic discomfort finally siphoning off.

"Are you lying to me in order that you may have the 'treat' option instead of the 'trick'?"

"Spock, no. _No."_ Kirk's voice is soft and _oh,_ it does something to that human half that strengthens Spock's urge to cover him, mark him, seed himself deep inside him, but it's driven by something else entirely now and something must show in his face because suddenly instead of pushing down, Kirk is pulling away, pulling himself upwards. Spock lets him go, feels slightly lost and is puzzled by that feeling, by the sudden emptiness that seems to open up like a physical space around him. But then Kirk is there, face soft and that look on it like he _knows,_ like he _understands_ something that Spock himself hasn't quite figured out yet, and when Kirk reaches for him Spock lets himself be pulled in, pulled down, and when Spock presses his face into the warmth of Kirk's neck he doesn't smell perfume at all.

"For someone so intelligent you can be incredibly human," Kirk says and his voice echoes oddly, his mouth pressed tightly against Spock's head.

"There is no need to be insulting," Spock says, but he understands the warmth in the statement and when Kirk chuckles, low and soft into his hair, Spock nuzzles into the pink warmth of his Captain's neck and gently presses sharp teeth into the skin there. "I believe I still owe you a treat," he says and he is tight enough against Kirk that he feels the low shiver of anticipation roll through him.

"I believe you do," Kirk says and when Spock rolls him over this time there is no protest, no struggle, and Spock doesn't bother with fingers this time. He kneels between those open thighs and Kirk's eyes are on his while he spreads the lubrication over the length of his penis, and when Kirk starts to push his hips forward there is no teasing, no words. Just the slide of flesh, of heat, of being surrounded and being helpless and Kirk, head thrown back and throat long and exposed, can say nothing but one word: _"Spock, Spock, Spock..."_

It doesn't take long at all. There is the smallest pang of disappointment at this but they are both too worked up, both too close to whatever edge they've been hovering on. And Spock is simply too grateful, too relieved, that when Jim reaches his completion he does so with a stuttering, gasping litany of Spock's name. And it is a pleasure, human and hedonistic and _good,_ when Spock thrusts into that willing heat one last time and spills himself deep inside while Jim's arms come up around him, surround him and soothe him and pull him down.

And it is now, it is after, and they are sated and pressed together on the too narrow couch and their skin is sticky and unpleasant to the touch and yet they are both unmoving and Spock marvels at this, and when the puzzled thoughts begin to appear, the attempt to reconcile this moment with logic, with reason, with what he knows to be _right,_ Spock pushes it aside for just a little bit longer.

He is almost asleep when he feels the vibration of Kirk's voice along his body and he has to struggle back to consciousness. When he does, he finds soft blue eyes crinkled up in a smile.

"Hm?" Spock hums because he can't find the energy for words.

"I asked," Kirk says and runs a light hand against Spock's side. "If I have ever told you about spanking."


End file.
